#the tina table : the tables have tina-ed

[jimmyjrsmusoems]

tina and jimmy jr.'s interactions in season 15, episode 1 "the tina table : the tables have tina-ed"

[yahoo201027]

Screencaps and Plot Synopsis for the upcoming Season 15 premiere episode of Bob's Burgers, "The Tina Table: The Tables have Tina-ed", premieres Sunday, September 29.

~~~~~

Tina is caught in a dilemma when Mr. Frond’s computer video game shoots her show, ‘The Tina Table’ into popularity, but the effects of his game take a toll on the school’s natural order. Meanwhile, Bob and Linda get a little too carried away with the ritual of recounting horror movies to Teddy and begin making up their own plots on the all-new "The Tina Table: The Tables Have Tina-ed" episode of BOB'S BURGERS airing Sunday, Sept 29 (9:00-9:30 PM ET/PT) on FOX.

[movies-tv-more]

BOB'S BURGERS 15x01 "The Tina Table: The Tables Have Tina-ed" airs tonight at 9pm on FOX

[cars-allthedifferentcars2]

Me wondering why there wasn't an scene in the season 15 premiere that showed Tina and Jimmy Jr's phone call, or an scene created where they showed Jimmy Jr's reaction when he read, "too closed emotionally" from the game. *Sighs*

[theangrypomeranian]

HENRY IS BACK! MY BOY! 🤩

[red-pencil]

Sili-Frond valley.

Drew this while working on "The Tina Table: the Tables Have Tina-ed"

[munson-blurbs]

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 002: The Devil Has Come to America

Summary: Following orders and toeing the line is your specialty, but when Patient 086 tries to bargain with the doctors, you're tempted to step out of your comfort zone.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, that scene at the end of S4E9, flashbacks, drug/alcohol use

WC: 5k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 30, 1984

“Have you seen the new guy?” Heather giddily asks you and Carol through a mouthful of macaroni salad. A soft blush creeps into her cheeks as it often does when she gets flustered. 

Carol nods enthusiastically. “He sits in front of me in algebra.” She offers a smarmy grin as she tucks into her own lunch. “Let me tell you, I might actually show up to class every day if I get to stare at his ass all period.”

Heather laughs, covering her lips with a manicured hand. “Don’t let Tommy hear that,” she jokes.

“Don’t let Tommy hear what?”

Carol swats at her boyfriend as he sits down next to her, giggling as she explains the situation. “We were just talking about the new kid, Billy…something-or-other.” She waves it off; clearly, the shape of his butt is more important than his last name. “I think he’s from California.”

Tommy nods knowingly. “Yeah, I have phys ed with him. I was gonna see if he wants to go out for basketball this year. He’s pretty damn good.”

“Better than King Steve?” Carol snickers, reaching onto Tommy’s lunch tray and swiping a French fry. “Or should I say, Mr. Nancy Wheeler?”

Heather laughs at this, too, but you can tell by her unnatural lilt that it’s forced. She’s been doing that a lot more often lately–pretending to be amused by Carol and Tommy’s antics just to fit in with them.

Tommy throws a letterman jacket-clad arm around his girlfriend. “And, uh, speaking of dudes who are totally whipped,” he says under his breath, eyes sweeping to the corner of the cafeteria where the Hellfire Club sits. You know exactly what he’s looking at; sure enough, when you drag over your own gaze, there’s Eddie Munson, staring longingly at your table. 

“Ooh, I’ll bet he’s gonna be selling at Tina’s party tomorrow!” Carol flashes you the grin you only get when she needs a favor. “Can you talk to him? You know he’ll give you a discount.”

Never mind the fact that you didn’t smoke, or that the last time you’d done this for her, she hadn’t paid you back a single cent. The question is a simple formality: you will get cheap weed from Eddie, whether you like it or not. 

“Y’know,” Tommy breaks in smarmily, eyebrows raised like he’s offering classified information, “I heard he flunked last year on purpose so he could keep selling at high school parties.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. He could’ve graduated and still swung by to sell.”  The retort spills from your lips before you can stop yourself, but it’s true. It’s not unheard of for recent grads to pop in to snag some beer or jungle juice. 

Your words are met with glares from Tommy and Carol; Heather’s foot brushes your own with a dual meaning of are you okay and don’t get us in trouble. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, desperate to avoid the unwanted social consequences that await you and Heather if you mess this up. “I can, um, talk to him at the party tomorrow.”

Flirting with him for discounted pot doesn’t sit right with you. But since Heather is your only friend, and she’s now friends with Carol, you can’t risk losing her. 

You let yourself look over at the young man who’s been harboring a crush on you since this school year began, feeling a pang in your heart. This is the last time, you tell yourself, and then I’m done leading him on. Carol can buy her own shit, full price. 

But when you hear Heather laughing again, you realize that you’re only lying to yourself. The only thing worse than high school is enduring it alone, and if that means temporarily turning into someone you hate, then so be it. 

March 30, 1986

“EDDIE!”

The shouted word reverberates around Patient 086’s skull as he wakes up suddenly, body trembling from the nightmare and from the headache forming behind his temples. He winces when he opens his eyes, the overhead lighting only enhancing the pain.

“Eddie,” he whispers to himself, letting it melt on his tongue. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” He smiles despite having every other reason not to.

I’m Eddie. My name is Eddie. 

His joy dissipates when he fails to recall whose voice was calling out for him. It’s a balloon that keeps getting whisked away in the wind, just out of reach.

Eddie grits his teeth, overdue tears streaming down his scarred cheeks. I know this–it’s…it’s…

“Fuck.” The swear is all exhalation, hardly any force behind it. His shoulders shake as sobs wrack through him, his quest to remember seemingly still fruitless. He’s so close, but still too far away.

The door to his room swings open without warning, one of the doctors from his earlier scuffle standing in Eddie’s line of vision. It isn’t the one he’d bitten–Dr. Snell–but the one who appeared to be the leader. His mere presence unsettles Eddie, like there’s an invisible evil seeping from his pores.

“086.” An unfriendly grin stretches his lips. “I take it you’re feeling rather…well-rested, yes?” He takes immediate notice of the way Eddie’s hands clench into fists, one by his side and one still cuffed to the gurney. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, 086. Perhaps we should start fresh, now that you’re aware of our non-compliance protocol.”

“Eddie.” Eddie grunts, not daring to make eye contact. “My name is Eddie, not 086.”

The doctor’s eyebrows furrow in momentary confusion before he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Yes, right. I forgot that 055 accessed that memory.” His signature smirk returns as though it never left. “We use numeric identifiers here. Easier to keep track of our patients. So while you may have been Eddie, you’re now 086. Understood?”

But Eddie’s mind remains trained on the doctor’s previous statement. “Someone…accessed my memory?” He curls inward at this privacy violation. A person he didn’t even know was able to see his memories–yet he still couldn’t.

“Very briefly,” the doctor confirms. “It was more difficult than anticipated because you were sleeping. We will require your cooperation for this task.” His arched gray eyebrow informs Eddie that this is not up for discussion. “Be aware that while it is challenging for 055 to access your memories while you’re asleep, it’s not impossible. If you choose to behave as you did earlier, the consequences will be the same.” He holds out a water-filled paper cup and a small container of two pills, chuckling at Eddie’s ambivalence. “Just some ibuprofen for the headache. They’re standard after memory accession.”

Every muscle in Eddie’s body tenses, his already-dry throat feeling like sandpaper. He gulps down the medication, utterly defeated. “C-Can I just ask…why do you need my memories?” What secrets could he possibly hold that interest them enough to steal them from his unconscious brain?

The doctor sighs, weighing the options of honesty and deceit. He speaks after a moment with a carefully curated response. “The place we rescued you from was nowhere you should have been. Nowhere anyone should ever be.” His lips purse in concentration. “We need to know who, if anyone, was with you to ensure their safety and wellbeing.” The doctor lowers his voice as though revealing priceless information. “What if they’re trapped there, 086, just as you were? We can’t know unless you allow us to see.”

Eddie doesn’t miss the faintest smile, disappearing almost as soon as it forms, as though the doctor is proud of his presentation. Like he’s telling an elaborate fictional story rather than insinuating true mortal danger. 

“Okay,” Eddie pauses but agrees, despite the nausea pooling in his stomach. There may have been people with me. Family or friends or anyone links to my past. To who I am, or who I was. “I’ll do it, but I want to see more than just the end. I want happy memories pulled, too. Can 055 do that?” He keeps his voice as insistent as possible, vaguely aware that he just may be making a deal with the Devil himself.  

“Of course she can.” He eyes Eddie’s singular restrained wrist; for a second, Eddie thinks he’s going to let him go, but the man just continues speaking. “I’ll bring her in as soon as she’s ready.”

He’s too quick and too smug in his response, but Eddie has no choice but to believe him. It’s the last bit of hope that he has. 

October 31, 1984

You can hear music blaring before you and Heather even pull up in front of Tina’s house. She’s meticulously checking her lip gloss in her compact mirror, one manicured fingernail scraping around her mouth to remove any nonexistent excess. 

“How do I look?” She asks, eagerly awaiting your opinion. It’s a seemingly stupid question; she always looks gorgeous. It’s almost unfair how beautiful she is, not to mention an impossible comparison standard to which you’ll never measure up. 

She’s truly outdone herself tonight, dressed as Wonder Woman. The corset amplifies her cleavage and the blue barely-there shorts showcase her long legs. Diana Prince’s signature crown is perched atop her hair. 

“Amazing. Billy’s gonna lose his shit.” You smile as she blushes and gets out of your car, excitedly slamming the passenger door behind her. There’s no point in fielding her the same question; she’ll placate you with an untrue compliment that won’t do anything to boost your ego. 

You adjust your black mask and step out, cautiously teetering in your high heels. It was Heather’s idea for you to be Cat Woman, claiming that she couldn’t dress sexily without you, but you feel like a fish out of water. The latex suit just doesn’t look right on your body, or maybe the problem is that your body doesn’t look right in the suit. 

Heather waits as you get your bearings, hooking her arm with yours and bringing you an immediate sense of comfort. This is the Heather Holloway you’ve grown up with, the one who’d encouraged you to face your fears and ride a two-wheeler bike, the one who’d used her own allowance to buy you a new pair of pants when you got your first period in the middle of Sears, the one who’d let you sleep over whenever simmering arguments with your parents reached a boiling point. Regardless of her newfound affiliation with Carol–and Tommy, by default–she’s still your best friend.

Someone lets out a low wolf-whistle as you two walk through Tina’s house and to the backyard. Heather holds her head high while your gaze stays glued to the ground, unwilling to make eye contact with the perpetrator. It’s highly unlikely that the flirtation was intended for you, anyway. 

Outside, the crowd is chanting as Tommy stands beside the keg, propping up a guy in a leather jacket. Heather squeals and tugs on your sleeve excitedly. “That’s Billy!” she exclaims, discreetly pointing to the man currently upside down, guzzling beer like his life depends upon it.

After twenty-two seconds, Billy motions to be lowered back to the ground. Foam spews from his mouth and drips down his chiseled abs, slick with sweat.

“We got ourselves a new…keg…CHAMP!” Tommy announces, slipping a lit cigarette between Billy’s fingers.

Billy takes a triumphant drag, exhaling smoke as he declares, “That’s how you do it, Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” He looks around the party with a squared jaw, assessing who is impressed by his feat besides the Tommy Hagan-shaped puppy yipping at his heels.

You turn to Heather, trying your best not to roll your eyes while she outwardly swoons. “There’s your Prince Charming,” you mutter, stomach curdling as Billy’s blue eyes flicker up and down her body, a predatory smirk crossing his ale-drenched lips.

Heather saunters over to him with a confidence you haven’t seen from her before. One hand wraps around Billy’s bicep, pulling all of his attention to her. “That was really cool,” she says breathily, biting her lower lip and peering at him through mascaraed lashes.

Billy shakes his mullet of curls, inhaling from the cigarette again before he speaks. “Yeah, well, someone had to breathe life into this shitty excuse for a party.” He sighs and stretches, causing his muscles to ripple underneath his jacket and snaking an arm around her waist to tug her closer. “But it looks like it just got a lot more interesting.”

He’s a walking cliché, the absurdly attractive new kid obnoxiously strutting around like a proud peacock while girls fall at his feet. You can’t blame Heather for being entranced; you just wish she could see through the shiny exterior and realize that, to him, she’s just another pair of panties on his bedroom floor.

An impatient tap on your shoulder draws you from a disbelieving stupor. Carol stands behind you, arms folded across her chest as though she’s irritated with you before you can even say a word.

“Freak’s here,” she reports flatly, shoving a crumpled bill in your palm. “Whatever twenty bucks can buy.”

Right. The second reason you’ve dragged yourself to this party, in addition to being Heather’s loyal sidekick, is to awkwardly flirt your way to a weed discount.

You shuffle back into the house, spotting Nancy Wheeler sloppily ladling jungle juice into a cup, swaying with the beginnings of tipsiness. Your heart sinks; it seems like everyone is enjoying themselves at this party–or is trying to, at least–except for you.

Why are you like this? Why can’t you just be normal and fit in? It was simple for Heather; Mrs. O’Donnell had assigned her and Carol to be lab partners, and within a week, she’d begun her ascent up the social ladder. But you were resistant, remembering Carol’s constant barrage of snide remarks hurled your way, never trusting her the way your best friend did.

“C’mon, don’t you want to be popular? To finally be noticed?” Heather had pressed, eyes shining with the prospects of landing on Hawkins High’s proverbial A-list. “You can’t just let people trample over you for the rest of your life.”

And so you’d tagged along for the ride, only to find that you’d graduated from punching bag to doormat. You did what they asked because they had the power to obliterate your already meager social life, and they knew it. 

That’s why you currently find yourself looking over at Eddie Munson as he digs through his tin lunch box. He takes a handful of bills from Linda Becker and gives her a pre-rolled joint, shoving the cash in his pants pocket. He shakes his mop of curls out of his eyes and moves onto his next customer, a junior who just crushed a Miller Lite can on his head. 

Eddie only sticks around these parties long enough to sell whatever’s in his stash before he slips away; if you put this off any longer, you risk pissing off Carol, which will upset Heather and further strain your friendship. 

You take a deep breath. It’s just some harmless flirting; you’re not proposing marriage, or even sleeping with him. Bat your lashes, tell him he looks nice, ask him about his day, and get some weed. Yeah, you can do this. 

Here goes nothing. 

One hundred eight…one hundred nine…

The squeak of his door opening disrupts Eddie’s meticulous wall tile counting. Annoyance prickles under his skin when he loses focus. He tries not to let it show, keeping up the cooperative façade so the scientists will be willing to give him what he wants–a glimpse into his past. Not just the parts of 086 they deem important, but the smaller moments that comprise him. The parts that make up Eddie.

The man he’d bitten—Dr. Snell—stands in the doorway with what appears to be another patient. She wears a hospital gown identical to his own, and her hair is also cropped close to her scalp. 

Dr. Snell speaks first. “086, this is 055,” he says, gesturing to the young woman to his right. Eddie tries to get a better look at her, but it proves to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. She doesn’t allow her gaze to meet his as though she’s afraid to be seen; ironic, considering she’d infiltrated his mind just hours earlier. 

“Um, hi,” Eddie sputters awkwardly, not quite sure how to navigate this unique introduction. Thanks for uncovering my memories? Sorry for whatever you find in there? Also, if you could look past the bloody mess and let me know who the kid screaming my name was, I’d really appreciate it?

He sighs when you offer only silence in response, using his untethered hand to scratch a spot on his scalp where his hair is shaved a bit too close. Impatience gnaws in his chest. “So, uh, we gonna get started on this memory pulling thing?”

Dr. Snell nods, hesitantly making his way to Eddie’s bedside. “086, I am going to remove your restraints. When I do, I expect you to continue giving us your full cooperation. Is this understood?” He conspicuously fiddles with a button hanging from a cord around his neck; Eddie can only assume it’s used to page the other scientists in an emergency. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” The doctor pulls a key from his pocket and plunges it in the slot that joins the clamps together. The metal digs into Eddie’s wrist before the pressure disappears altogether, and he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“Now,” Dr. Snell continues, turning to 055, “you will continue revealing 086’s memories of the Nether. You’re going to determine who else was there and what they may have seen.” He ticks off the two agenda items on his pointer and middle fingers as though it’s a simple task. 

Eddie watches as 055 pulls up a chair across from him, still avoiding making eye contact until it’s absolutely necessary. “Sit up.” It’s an order, but a polite one, and Eddie follows it without a second thought. “I need you to take the memory I pulled and think about pushing it to the surface of your mind. Do your best to focus only on that, and it’ll make my job a lot easier.” 

There’s a familiar cadence to 055’s voice, her last sentence laced with both honesty and a hint of humor. Eddie’s surprised to find himself relaxing a bit, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. He reflexively closes his eyes. 

“N-No…leave them open.”

His eyelids flutter open, embarrassment pinkening his cheeks as though this was something he should have known. He concentrates on the already-fading memory of the boy shouting for him, biting into his lower lip so hard that it draws a bit of blood. The metallic taste stirs something within him, his ribs suddenly aching where they’re scarring.

An earthy scent overtakes his next inhale, a stark contrast from the sterile lab environment. Eddie’s moving too fast to be on foot, the bicycle wheels spinning across dirt and sinking into the mud as he frantically pedals. Something weighs on his back, but he can’t reach back to feel what it is.

He leaps off of the bike without warning, faintly hearing it clatter in the distance, but it’s quickly drowned out by violent shrieking. The sound tornadoes around him as he grabs the items from behind him: a makeshift spear and a garbage pail lid with nails driven through it. 

Clang! Clang! 

The flying objects ricochet off of the lid, the spikes not impaling them enough to do much damage. The shield begins to bend under their impact, but Eddie continues swinging with all of his might. His grunts are barely audible over the screeching bat-like creatures. His chest tightens as he musters up his remaining strength and courage, bellowing into the wind.

“COME ON!!!”

The scream provides no intimidation; it only further depletes his already-limited energy. He pauses for a second to take another breath, but his air supply is cut off by a barbed tail wrapping around his throat.

Eddie instinctively drops the spear to unravel the beast’s grasp from his neck, but he knows it’s too late. He’s done for. While he wrestles with the bat, others latch onto him and drag him to the ground to feast on his flesh. 

“EDDIE!”

The boy.

Eddie hears him over the blood pounding in his ears, willing him to stay away, go back to safety, but shock has rendered him wordless. 

And then the shrieking stops, leaving only the sounds of his own ragged breathing.

“Eddie!” The boy’s voice is quieter but still panicked, his face coming into view as he tends to Eddie’s wounds. Shiny braces adorn his teeth and mucus muffles his speech. “Oh my God, Eddie.”

Eddie can only look straight into the misty darkness, unable to move his body. “‘S bad, huh?” he manages through terse lips. 

“No, nononono, you’re gonna be fine,” the boy sputters, trying to convince himself more than Eddie, “we just gotta get you to a hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees too easily, feeling the fight leaving him with each passing second. 

The two of them grunt in frustration and agony as Eddie uses his friend as a crutch, but he knows it’s no use. There isn’t any sense in this kid wasting his precious energy saving him from his inevitable demise. 

“Just give me a second, okay?” Blood pools in Eddie’s throat; he swallows it down and forces a small smile. This is it. He has nothing left to give. 

His gaze meets the boy’s, and they share an understanding glance. There’s nothing that either of them can do: Eddie is going to die. 

“I didn’t run away this time, right?”

“No, nonono. You didn’t run,” the boy reassures him with a swift shake of his head, his curls held in place by a thick band. 

Eddie grabs his hand, shiny eyes flitting over so he can drive home his point before it’s too late. “You’re gonna have to look after those little sheep for me, okay?” 

“No, you’re gonna do that yourself!”

“Nah, man.” He needs this; he needs this promise fulfilled before he can fully let go. “Say you’re gonna look after them.”

The boy almost starts to deny it again, but Eddie’s steadily loosening grip informs him that his time is limited. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna look after them…” he chokes out, no longer able to look Eddie in the eyes. 

“Good.” Haziness engulfs him, blurring his thoughts into a swirl of memories that has no beginning or end. “Because I’m actually gonna graduate…” He punctuates the statement with a small snort as he laughs through the pain. 

The boy lets out a strained cry, pity and sadness and the early stages of grief rolled into one small sound. 

“I think it’s my year, Henderson. I think it’s finally my year.” Eddie’s eyes glaze over; with his final breath, he ekes out a promise of his own. “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s the last thing he hears before the world goes black. 

Eddie’s eyes snap open now, the dull roar of a headache barely affecting him. The present bleeds into the past, tile and disinfectant replacing dirt and overgrown moss. He blinks a few times to adjust. 

“H-Henderson,” he stammers, looking between you and Dr. Snell. “My friend—Henderson—he was with me there. Dustin Henderson!” He snaps his fingers excitedly, pushing away the discomfort from the rapid movements. “I think we go to school together. Oh, my God, Dustin Henderson!” He laughs aloud, beaming from ear to ear. He remembers Dustin Henderson’s name, which means other memories of him can’t be far behind. 

Eddie turns back to you as you wipe away the trail of blood under your nose, speaking so eagerly that he’s tripping over his words. “Okay, I’m gonna—I’m gonna keep thinking about him, and you pull more memories.” He looks you directly in the eyes, emotion written all over his own. “His name is Dustin Henderson. Got it?”

Before you can answer, the doctor cuts in. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today, 086.” He doesn’t seem apologetic in the least, practically baring his teeth in a sinister grin. 

“N-No, he said—he promised,” Eddie sputters, feeling increasingly pathetic. 

Dr. Snell shakes his head. “Who’s ‘he?’” he sneers. “I don’t recall making any promises to you.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest. 

“The other doctor—he said that she,” Eddie glances at you, “could pull more memories. Good ones.”

Your blood runs cold; this is the first you’re hearing of this, and you suspect it’s one of Dr. Moseley’s many empty promises designed to foster compliance and break spirits. 

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry and his stomach curdles as the doctor says nothing more, cuffs him back to the bed, and leads you away from the room. You look back for a split second, briefly making eye contact with him, but quickly turn around. 

Please, Eddie begs silently, please help me remember. There had to be some good in my life, and I need to know what it was. 

Cynicism chips away at his waning hope as you get farther down the hall until he can no longer hear your clipped conversation with the doctor, your presence becoming a memory in itself. 

Your time in the lab thus far has been spent obeying orders and doing your best to remain inconspicuous whenever your services are not needed. Your allegiance, coupled with your refusal to make waves, is what’s kept you from experiencing the scientists’ wrath. Silent unless spoken to. 

Guilt gnaws at your insides, churning bile in your stomach, and you know what you have to do. 

“Dr. Snell, I have to use the restroom.” You push the words out in a single breath, lungs tightening when he actually stops in his tracks and faces you. Skepticism is written all over his face, and with good reason, but you double down on your statement with the three words that fluster nearly every man: “Got my period.”

Sure enough, his cheeks turn magenta as he sputters, “Yeah, yes, of course.” He steps aside as you rush back towards the bathroom, your urgency very much real though the excuse is a blatant lie. You stand behind the door and silently count to five, peering out to ensure that the coast is clear. There’s no sign of Dr. Snell–or any of the scientists, for that matter–so you make your way to Eddie’s room, cursing the soft noise your bare feet make on the tile floor. 

Turn back. Don’t risk your safety to play the hero. 

If you’re caught, there will be repercussions. You could easily find yourself strapped to the bed or thrown in isolation for days on end; all of the trust you’d built up with the authorities will be tossed in an instant. 

Something propels you forward; perhaps it’s the desire to do what’s right, but you know it’s mostly the guilt of what happened between you two, whether he remembers or not. 

“Ed—086,” you quickly amend, your voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie looks around, disoriented and fighting the post-accession headache. 

“Y-Yeah?”

You tiptoe closer to him, doing your best to ignore how vulnerable he looks right now. If you think about it too much, you might cry. “You need to obey the doctors, especially Dr. Moseley,” you say. 

“Why?” Eddie spits back. “I tried, and they fucked me over. Why should I help them?”

You lean over and tug on the handcuff. “You see this? Notice how I don’t have one?” You shake your free wrist to emphasize the point. “That’s because I do as I’m told and fall in line.”

“This whole place is a goddamn prison,” he retorts, rolling his eyes. “Who cares if I’m strapped to the bed or not? Where the hell am I gonna go?”

“You’re not hearing me.” You want to scream, and it takes everything inside you to hold back. “The less trouble you give them, the less they’ll watch over you, and the more I can access your memories. The ones you want to remember.”

This throws a temporary wrench into his anger, scowl softening until he recalls how he’d recently been tricked. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”

You cut him off, grabbing his one free hand without warning. Staring into his fear-filled eyes, you pull a memory, though he doesn’t know that it’s easily accessible because it’s one of your memories, too. 

That’s a conversation for another day. 

The smell of stale beer and unfiltered cigarette smoke clouds the bar while a band of four boys plays onstage. Eddie has one ring-clad hand wrapped around the electric guitar’s neck and the other strumming intensely as he launches into the song’s chorus. 

For whom the bell tolls Time marches on For whom the bell tolls!

He turns around and faces the drummer, grinning headbanging along to the beat. The kid behind the drumset is a bit younger than he is, and considerably more nervous, but Eddie’s encouragement allows him to lose himself in the music. 

You end the memory before present-day Eddie can hear the applause; you know you were the one cheering the loudest that night, and you can’t let him recognize you. 

“There will be a lot more of that if you fly under the radar and give them a reason to back off,” you tell him, plucking a thin tissue from a nearby box to clean your nose. “Trust me, they don’t want to watch over you 24/7. They have bigger issues they need to deal with.”

Trust me. The last time he trusted you, it destroyed him, whether he remembers it or not. This is your chance to make it right. 

“Just think about it,” you plead, adrenaline waning and anxiety drawing you back to your room. “Help me help you.”

You leave him with even more questions than he had before. Hopefully, that’s incentive enough. 

--

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[myrtiniart]

Get me a man who looks like a tech visionary

Ex MachTina S07E08 // The Tina Table: The Tables Have Tina-ed S15E01

[scarlettmacbeth]

The way you move ain't fair you know - Steddie Fanfic - AO3 - Stranger Things

Steve had enthusiastically told Robin about the successful date.

—So what happened next?

—I walked him home, we hugged each other again, and he went inside —Steve said, smiling.

—Wait... you didn't kiss him?

—Well... no —Steve confessed, blushing—. I do not want to put too much pressure on him; we will take things slowly.

Eddie came through the door and greeted them enthusiastically, as if the thought had summoned him. Robin couldn't help but notice that even as he addressed her, Eddie's eyes followed Steve's every movements. She gladly accepted the excuse to leave them alone when two more customers entered the store.

—I want to rent a tape —Eddie leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his palms on his cheeks as he said, crookedly grinning—. ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ .

—You have already seen that one —Steve said immediately.

Eddie looked at him puzzled.

—You rented it a month and half ago.

Eddie blushed as he bit his lip. Good memory , he murmured.

—What about you?

Steve raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

—Have you seen it?

Steve shook his head.

—Come watch it with me —Eddie said casually, scratching the back of his neck—. Tonight, at my place?

The exhilarating thought of going on another date with Eddie washed over Steve.

—Sure, I’ll be there.

He arrived on time and brought beers. The trailer was messy, but there was an obvious effort to conceal the wrinkled clothes under the bed and the dirty dishes in the sink. Processed food cans and packages piled high in a couple of trash bags in the kitchen corner. The movie was set to start, the couch was cleared, and snacks were placed on the table. When Eddie walked past him, Steve felt the freshness of his recently washed hair, and his stomach muscles twitched. He had visited Eddie's place before, but they had never gone there by themselves, let alone on a date.

On the screen, Nancy found Tina's diary and began to read about her nightmares. In the meantime, Steve had settled into a cozy stance with his head resting on Eddie's shoulder and his legs propped up on the couch, while six beer cans were scattered across the floor. Eddie's jacket still carried the lingering smell of tobacco and marijuana smoke, and his long hair exuded the scent of lavender shampoo. Steve reasoned that the fragrances themselves had little to do with the strange calm and thrilling ecstasy he was feeling at that very moment, and that the boy wearing them was much more responsible. He wished he could smell his skin directly, feel it beneath his fingers, and use his lips and tongue to commit the shape and texture of his tattoos to memory. Eddie eventually relaxed, his feet on the coffee table and his arm stretched out on the back of the chair, after being taken aback by his sudden closeness. When Steve approached, resting his cheek on his chest, Eddie sighed contentedly and allowed himself to play with the strands of hair that felt so close to his face, pure softness and perfume. He had often fantasized about using his fingers to tousle that flawless mane. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath; upon opening them, Glen dozed off, making him a prime target for Freddy. 

—You totally look like Johnny Depp —Eddie blurted out.

—What? —Steve said—. I do not.

—Of course you do, the typical movie heartthrob —Eddie answered softly—. You should wear crop tops sometime.

Steve looked up at him, their gazes locking. He laughed softly, a calm laugh that brought back memories of breezy summer nights. Eddie was astounded by its warmth, feeling it ascend within him and land on his chest. His heart skipped a beat, and the hand that had become entangled in Steve's hair trembled slightly. What was this bond that held them together in the middle of the night, an inexplicable electricity in the air? It did not need to be explained. Their friendship had begun with terror, suffering, and loss and had since blossomed into something lovely and delightful. Eddie enjoyed the sensation of tension created by Steve's hand resting on his thigh, only hindered by his jeans' fabric. How could he not see that I am all red and sweaty? He can not help but notice the effect he has on me . It was the paradox of the innocent villain, who causes harm by accident; his tender gazes and adorable dimples stabbed like darts into Eddie's soul, drowning in the shivers of that sweet torture. The more Steve gave him, the more his insatiable heart demanded; he knew that if he kept pulling on that string, it would eventually snap, and he was ready to fall with the end in his grasp. The certainty of his impending fall caused his veins to swell with vertigo.

Upon rising from the couch, Steve faltered; he had glanced at his watch and conceded, with resignation, that it was time to leave. Eddie guided him to the door and gave a little start when he felt Steve's lips lightly touch his cheek.

—Good night, Eddie —he smiled as he left—. I had a fantastic time, next time is on me.

With his fingers still firmly planted on his cheek, Eddie gave a forceful nod, as though he wanted to trap Steve's runaway kiss there.

***

Read the complete fanfic on AO3:

Eddie has been crushing on Steve for some time, but accepted the fact that his love is unrequited. When Steve asks him out on a date, Eddie agrees, believing it to be purely platonic, just a friends' thing. It takes him three dates and two kisses to come to the conclusion that he is in fact dating Steve Harrington.

[ilikethisacompletelynormalamount]

Since Andrew is taking some well deserved time away from the public at the moment, let's revisit (or visit for the first time, if you're new here) this stunning photoshoot from Mr. Porter, October 2019, when he was doing press for Modern Love and his Ripley casting had just been announced (yes, it's taken that long for it to come out).

Mr Andrew Scott’s big brown eyes are open wide in amused disbelief. “That was not an Irish accent,” he says in his musical Irish brogue. “That was a West Country accent.” How embarrassing for an interviewer who thought to connect with her subject by lightly mocking Mr Ed Sheeran’s ­– again – not-Irish accent in his cameo in Mr Scott’s episode of Amazon’s upcoming anthology series, Modern Love. Panic sets in. “It’s all right,” he says, soothingly. “It’s all right. Accents are such funny things.”

You know what else is a funny thing? Sitting with Fleabag’s “hot priest” – 2019’s most unexpected sex symbol – in a wine bar in Bermondsey, southeast London, talking about vulnerability, romcoms and love stories. Or, to take another angle: sitting across the table from the deranged Jim Moriarty and letting him pick out a rosé. That tickles, too. Having Hamlet express the need for a mini-break in, he doesn’t know, Copenhagen? Amsterdam, maybe? Surreal.

But actually, Mr Scott, who is wearing what can only be described as a modified sweatsuit (shorts and a zip-up sweatshirt, no shirt beneath) after our photoshoot isn’t funny funny. No, Mr Scott is serious: reserved and contemplative, but with the energy of a theatre nerd who, every once in a while, rests his head in his hands, cupping his fingers around his eyes to form blinkers while he thinks about a question you’ve just asked. In this quiet wine bar. He’s not an evil murderer, an agent of a shadowy organisation, or an overly excited (wink) cleric. He’s just a nice guy who sympathises about the difficulty of parsing the subtleties of the many accents in the British Commonwealth (and beyond).

Mr Scott is still hot off his run in Fleabag, even though the show ran from March to April of this year. A few weeks ago, he received a GQ Men of the Year Award, and just a few weeks after that, was in Los Angeles at the Emmy Awards where Fleabag cleaned up, winning three awards.

Of course, this is not Mr Scott’s big break. He’s been in the business since moving from Dublin to London 20 years ago to pursue acting. His dad worked in employment, helping young people find the right careers and his mother was an art teacher. “They were definitely into following your passion and doing that for the rest of your life,” he says. “Rather than, ‘You should be a lawyer,’ or whatever the fuck.”

And this has been a year for Mr Scott’s passions. Aside from Fleabag, and an episode of Black Mirror that landed on Netflix this June, he’s making a poignant appearance in the aforementioned _Modern Love,_­ which will drop all at once on 18 October. A series of discreet episodes, each one features its own starry cast (Mr Dev Patel, Mr John Slattery, Ms Tina Fey, Ms Anne Hathaway and, of course, Mr Ed Sheeran, among others), based on the much-loved New York Times column from which it takes its name. Mr Scott’s episode, which co-stars Ms Olivia Cooke and Mr Brandon Kyle Goodman, is loosely based on an early column written by the sex-and-relationships writer Mr Dan Savage about the unusual experience he and his partner had with adoption. “It’s just a really sweet little story. It’s not about a romantic relationship,” he says, (many Modern Love entries are not). “It’s simply about the relationships between people.”

He’s also currently filming in Cardiff for the BBC TV series of His Dark Materials. And maybe there’s a Marvel movie in his future? “Oh, fuck. Completely false,” he says. “Someone said, ‘Are you going to be in a thing?’ I said, ‘No,’ and I said, ‘There have been discussions.’ And it’s like ‘Andrew Scott has been in discussions.’”

That’s what happens when suddenly everyone wants you – to use Twitter parlance – to run them over with your car. The Priest, unlike his other characters, was a sex symbol, one that wears the hell (forgive me, Father) out of a cassock. But who could be surprised that Mr Scott turned a priest into the “Hot Priest” simply by saying “kneel”? (If you don’t know what that means, stop reading now, watch the show, come back.) In fact, he has been making words positively drip with meaning for nearly a decade.

Consider Moriarty, the insane criminal puppet master Mr Scott played for six years across four seasons of the BBC’s Sherlock, opposite Mr Benedict Cumberbatch in the titular role. This particular Moriarty – Holmes’ famous nemesis, who has also been played by Messrs Orson Welles, John Huston and Sir Laurence Olivier – is indelible and utterly idiosyncratic. “If you’re going to do it, I don’t see there’s any point in doing it without putting your own stamp on it. I never look at any previous incarnations,” says Mr Scott. The result of this thinking – in Sherlock, at least – was a Moriarty who is all sing-song eeriness, molten physicality, and questionable cutaway collars. “He was quite theatrical; he was grotesque, sort of the archetypal villain,” he says. Archetypal, indeed: the role propelled him into the world of maniacal superfandom. He might not have received a dedicated stan nomenclature like his co-star (ahem, “Cumberbitches”), but the role made Mr Scott a household name.

Of course, establishing yourself as adept at playing evil incarnate probably leads to people wanting to cast you in more Moriarty-like roles. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yep, yeah,” he says, six times. “Yeah, exactly right,” (one more). “I turned down a lot. The shadow of that character took over for a little while.”  The craze got to be so tiresome that he asked the interviewer for a recent profile in The Guardian not to ask him about Moriarty at all (two years after he last appeared in the series). But now he sees a bigger picture, understands how being the object of abject obsession can be a good thing. “I think to answer your questions,” he says, tapping his fingers on the table, “it’s been really good fun.”

Mr Scott demurs when asked what it’s like to be the quencher of many thirsts on the internet. “People don’t say that to me. People don’t say, ‘Oh my God...” He shakes his head and trails off, perhaps in horror of what fans could be saying to him. It’s a little hard to believe that he wouldn’t be mobbed as he walks down the street. After all, one major British publication declared that Fleabag and the Priest were the only couple worth talking or tweeting about this year. (We guess Meghan and Harry, and Kim and Kanye can relax.)

“If I’m honest, it’s only really just starting to dawn on me, the global effect the show has had. People like a bit of transgression, they just do.” Any follower of his career, though, understands that it’s more than just good writing that makes him so very watchable (though good writing, is, politely, what he puts it down to). His chemistry is electric with Ms Phoebe Waller-Bridge, as it was electric with Mr Cumberbatch, and palpable even if you weren’t lucky enough to catch his rendition of Hamlet and – like this interviewer – had to watch a clip on YouTube.

Mr Scott’s character, Tobin, in Modern Love is the most subdued we might ever see him. There’s very little shouting, and none of the wide-eyed glaring that has defined his roles to date. Instead, he plays sweetly, quietly off a tiny baby, and tells goodnight stories to an adorable little girl. Perhaps this is a harbinger of softer roles to come. “I’d love to be in a romcom,” he says. “I love watching people fall in love, and how mad it is.” And yet: it was just announced that he will be playing Tom Ripley in a new adaptation of The Talented Mr Ripley. So much for avoiding the nutters.

“What always amazes me is how innocent we are as human beings,” he says, sidestepping yet another probing question about being so irresistible right now. “We are very easily manipulated by stories. If someone puts scary music behind someone and they’re told this person’s eyes are absolutely terrifying, you go: ‘Oh my God, that person is scary, and his eyes totally freak me out.’”

“But then,” he continues, “[you’re told] ‘the priest is hot, wait till you see him’. And then you look at his eyes in a very different way and it’s the manipulation of the storytelling. It literally changes your character.” Hmmm.

“The success is the writing,” he tries, again, to argue. But it’s hard to be convinced that an actor who’s hopped from one iconic character to another is simply lucky with writing. He sees he’s not getting anywhere and changes tack. “Acting is just a way of experimenting with different parts of myself. Vulnerability is something I’m really, really interested in. I think vulnerability is at the centre of every character I’ve ever played even if they don’t appear or present as vulnerable.”

Throughout this conversation, his eyes have flicked around the bar, and he pauses from time to time to comment on the other patrons. At one point, a woman is coughing so vehemently, he stops mid-sentence to remark, humorously, on whether she might be dying. Now, he spots something on the bar. “Oh my God, she’s reading Brené Brown.” We both turn to stare at the book.

“She writes a lot about vulnerability,” he explains, excited. “[Being vulnerable] is how you get ahead. I really, really strongly believe that. [Vulnerability is] strong, it’s really strong.”

Perhaps this is the secret we’ve been trying to distil about his appeal: Mr Scott uses vulnerability to bring us all into a space of fear or sadness or lust or anger with him so that every character he plays – whether it’s the hottest priest in London, a gay man in Brooklyn trying to become a father, or a murderous villain – thrums with the heartbreak that comes with being human.

“The more I work,” he continues, “the more I just think every story is in some way concerned with love – or the lack of it.” He smiles an earnest little smile and we both know this is the place to stop. “That’s the way life is,” he says. “It’s so fast and furious.”

https://www.mrporter.com/en-hk/journal/fashion/the-softer-side-of-mr-andrew-scott-1052122

[br1ghtestlight]

The Tina Table: The Tables Have Tina-ed as an episode title just makes me think of when gene entered a competitive table setting state-wide competition in the boyz 4 now episode subplot and now im imagining the episode being about tina Also becoming a competitive tablescaper. maybe this is what her and gene bond over?? maybe they're bringing this back?

[jimmyjrsmusoems]

y'all wanna talk about how his eyes lower down for a split second when he mentions times he's "felt stuff"??? like he's looking at her li-

[yahoo201027]

What do you think about this week's episode of Bob's Burgers, "The Tina Table: The Tables Have Tina-ed"?

[nellie-elizabeth]

Bob's Burgers: The Tina Table: The Tables Have Tina-ed (15x01)

Fun to be back to school with the kids! This was a great episode to open up our fifteenth season.

Cons:

This isn't really a flaw of this episode, but a general note... one of the things I love about Louise is that she's an agent of chaos but she always comes through when it matters. I've noticed a trend recently of her being a little more... responsible, end of the day, than you would expect? It was interesting to me that her role in this episode was to convince Tina to do the right thing, even though the wrong thing was causing so much chaos and making people act so wacky. You'd think maybe Louise would be into that, at least at first? And then maybe have a turn a little later? But she immediately was against all these shenanigans, which I thought was a little odd.

Pros:

I liked the subplot back at the restaurant a lot - basically, Teddy has been having Bob and Linda recount the plots of various horror movies to him, since he hasn't seen any of them. Linda ran out of movies to describe and just starts making up fake plots to movies she hasn't seen. Bob gets involved one day against his will, but then finds that he actually really loves the creative outlet! They get found out when Teddy actually goes to see one of the movies they've been describing. He's barely mad, though - turns out, he thinks their versions of the stories are better than the real thing!

I liked that this was a Bob vs. Linda competitive thing; often the joke is that Bob is a pushover or just has to stand there while Linda is a chaos agent, but here we see them both getting invested and going a bit wild about it.

The main plot features Tina's morning news show segment at school, and some drama with Mr. Frond's new video game diagnosis tool. Tina gets a lot of positive feedback about featuring the game, and when it turns out it's all a fraud, Tina is tempted to keep up the ruse for the sake of the positive attention on the show. I really liked Mr. Frond conspiring with the kids for his own ends, it's always funny to see his supposed scruples fail in the face of potential personal gain. The twist that it was Henry Haber making the game for him in secret was also pretty funny.

This show exists in this kind of timeless zone where these kids have all been the same age for the past fifteen years, but one thing I loved about how this episode played with that specifically is that Mr. Frond's game is like... extremely archaic, 2-bit graphics, the most basic shit imaginable, and the idea of children this age in 2024 being impressed by something like that when they have a bajillion cooler things on their smartphones that most of them probably would own by middle school if not sooner... I don't know. It just made me smile. This show plays fast and loose with the anachronisms and I like that.

Also, it was fun to see Tina getting a clean win in this episode. She's often the sad sack, but this time, she got success on her show, and then even when she chose to do the right thing, she still won in the end, as it's decided that her show will stay on the air! Her bad-ass moment where she tricks Mr. Frond on the air was such a triumph! She even got some extra time with Jimmy Jr. being open and emotional with her, during the chaos of everyone trying to live up to their game-assigned personalities.

That's all for this one!

8.5/10

[smokeybrandreviews]

Crisis at the Borderlands

Borderlands was always going to be terrible. In order for that film to be a thing, it needed a hard R rating and there was no way 2K was going to let that happen. Leave money on the table by alienating the children audience? For shame! I’m not a looter shooter guy so I never played the Borderlands games, but I am aware of most of that world’s lore. I understood, pretty early on, that this thing was definitely going to get a film adaption and the only way to do  it, was to lean heavy in the absurdity of it all. I’m talking Guardians of the Galaxy meets Deadpool. You need the crass vulgarity and over-the-top gore in order to properly realize Pandora in real time. Eli Roth is good at that. It’s an odd thing to see because it’s almost as if they were shooting for Guardians and landed on the first Suicide Squad, when the second one was right there as the blueprint. I wouldn’t be surprised if this thing was shot for the R and edited around the PG-13, which would mean there are SWATHS of this film on the cutting room floor. I haven’t seen it and don’t really plan to but I hear there is a pretty great film in to be seen, if you can cut through the mire of mediocrity. A pretty common critique floating around is that Borderlands is simultaneously the most expensive and cheapest looking film you will ever see. All of that ambition, all of that6 potential, all of that budget, lost in the wind. This thing cost a hundred million to make, and had an eight million opening weekend. Hard pass, all across the demos. Who was this movie for? Where did all that money go? I can tell you where a big chunk of it went; The cast.

The worst thing about this film, and the one thing I absolutely knew was going to tank it, was the cast. When I saw Cate Blanchett in that horrendous wig, I knew this film was doomed. Never mind about the atrocious green screen, why the f*ck did you cast Blanchett, a damn near sixty year old woman, in the role of Lilith, a Siren who is very much not that? No shade to Blanchett, she is gorgeous and one of my favorite actresses working today with a range to be envied by anyone, but this was not the look, chief. Jamie Lee Curtis is an even more egregious miss as Dr. Tannis. Just, how? How do you look at Patricia’s model and see a sixty-five year old woman? How do you get Kevin Heart and nor, say, Terry Cruz for Roland? I mean, they nailed Tiny Tina and Mad Moxxi and I’ll even give them Jack Black as Claptrap, but your leads are all wrong. And, more to the point, expensive. Cate and Jaime are Oscar winners, which immediately jacks their rates through the roof. Blanchett is known to do her thing in the geeky pool, no one will come close to her Hela, but Curtis has a disdain for that type of stuff. Her rancor over Marvel proved that much but, her willingness to pop into the One Piece adaption is pretty chill. Either way, you’re paying top dollar for those two and Hart ain’t showing up for less than ten million on any project. Those three right there probably account for a quarter of the budget, if not more. And they’re all miscast! It’s nuts! Sh*t smacks of Corpo panic induced by microtransaction greed. Considering this is 2K we’re talking about, I wouldn’t be surprised.

It’s nuts to me because you could have cast younger, less expensive stars, gave it the R rating it need to thrive, and made this movie for substantially less risk. Someone like a Vanessa Kirby would have been dope as Tannis and I can’t unsee Samara Weaving trouncing about as Lilith. Both of them are excellent actresses, both of them have a solid fan base, and both of them are cheap. I already tapped Cruz for Roland and you can throw the most money David Eddings has ever seen, his way and have him voice Claptrap in the film, giving an organic tie to the games, and allow the rest of that budget for scripting and world building. That’s the strength of those games, the world around those characters, Obviously, develop relationships and make them compelling because no one cares about a journey if the characters aren’t solid but it’s the world around them which drives a lot of that pathos. There is heart in those Guardians films but you’re nuts if you think traversing across space and interacting with alien civilizations didn’t go a long way to bolstering that endearment to those films. Ivan totally see a neon drenched, kinetic ass violence streak, chock full off heartwarming character moments and saturated in CG blood splatter, absolutely killing a January to mid-March box office. There’s no way, especially after the reception to that initial trailer, you release this thing after Deadpool and Wolverine drops. That movie was going to kill, regardless of quality, because it’s the swan song to Fox-Marvel. That was their Endgame. You’re not stopping that momentum as proven by the fact the entire thing has leaked online and the f*cker is still doing numbers in the box office. Corpos are dumb. Avi Arad got his name on this was a huge red flag and guess what? He’s delivered another turd. Bless him for nurturing Marvel in the beginning but it’s readily apparent he needs to step aside. He’s too old school for his own good and just delivered a tepid reminder of what video game adaptions used to be, but without anything to redeem all of the horrible choices made.

[tomselleck-ian]

THE TINA TABLE: THE TABLES HAVE TINA-ED ?????????????????